


simple

by ravenhairedtrickster



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:52:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3997930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenhairedtrickster/pseuds/ravenhairedtrickster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Max,” she says, he stares up at her with a look of scarcely hidden apprehension.</p>
            </blockquote>





	simple

**Author's Note:**

> just wanted to do a character study in the form of a drabble

The world is quiet today. The sun peaks over the horizon and once years ago it's fiery tendrils of light licked at civilization, plant life, oceans and more. It's too hot, even now – she's long since used to it, used to this dry that parches her throat. It has made Furiosa stronger. 

There's a soft groan, a mumble caught in a throat and she nudges Max with her foot. He doesn't stir but settles, which is just the same to her. Furiosa has spent many a day exposed to the suffering of others; a lifetime suffering herself. 

Another noise comes from behind clenched teeth, from Max laying tucked into the sand. And at the third sound she moves. Her back is to the sun as she sits, her knees make divots in the sand, she straddles Max's thighs.

He's proved to be a light sleeper, often waking with fear sparkling in haunted eyes so she coaxes him from his slumber, her fingers trace shadows on his face. She watches him wake, anticipates his alarm and chases it away with a warm whisper.

“Max,” she says, he stares up at her with a look of scarcely hidden apprehension. 

“What're you doing,” he mumbles, sleep clinging to him like a parasite. It's rather endearing, Furiosa offers a smile. 

“Whatever I want,” she replies. 

She catches his wrist and he sighs as she presses it to the sand beside his head. 

“Will you allow it?” 

The question appears to throw Max off guard. He wriggles beneath her, cocks his head.

“You want to take, yet you ask?” He says this slowly, sounding muffled despite nothing obscuring his mouth. 

“I do not take without consent,” she says and carefully pins his other arm. 

“Strangest warlord I've ever met,” Max comments. She squeezes his wrists, maybe causes some pain, and again she sees that apprehension bubble to the surface – she releases him. 

For a long moment Furiosa remains stock still, straddling Max but pliant should he wish to move. He doesn't. This sparks a morbid curiosity. 

“Trust issues,” she murmurs, staring down at him. “You don't trust I won't hurt you.”

Max blinks slowly. 

“Trust died when the world went to shit.”

Furiosa nods. “You've trusted me, _us_ , this far. Why not now?”

Now a look of discomfort bleeds over Max's face, he shifts and Furiosa rises. His fingers hook into the crook of her leg, pressing to the back of her knee. 

“No, stay.” He says, barely audible. 

“I will,” Furiosa soothes, settles back down. She notes his hand doesn't move – there's no possession in his fingers, however, just contact. 

Has a man ever touched her like this? Surely not, Furiosa thinks as she stares down at him. 

“I can't answer your questions,” Max says and he's squinting now, the sun having finally chased the shadows from his face. “Don't know the answers, maybe never have.”

“Born and bred into fear?” 

“Something like that,” Max replies. “Forged by rough hands and honed by the wasteland.” 

She presses her lips into a thin, displeased line. “It's bondage then,” she says and her hands slide up his arms. Her fingers curl around his wrists carefully, testing. “Tell me if I ever cross your boundaries.”

“Why?” Max asks, turns his head and spits into the soon-to-be-sizzling sand. “What   
difference does it make?”

“I am not your abusers,” Furiosa growls, a frown twisting her face. “I am not your captors and I don't want to be. I won't tie you, I won't muzzle you, I won't stick you with needles or brand you.” 

Max seems to tremble, but it must be an illusion brought on by the heat.

“I don't want any of that.” She ducks down, the back of her head feels as though it's on fire from the sun. Her fingers slide forward, they find purchase between Max's. “I want to be equals.” She whispers against his lips. 

Max leans warily into her mouth. “You're superior by far,” he says plainly, no hint of malice, hate – none of that egotistical bullshit she's used to ignoring. 

Furiosa likes that.


End file.
